Break Me
by Darbracken
Summary: A look at the events concerning the dissolution of Prussia and Arthur's reaction to it.


On February 25, 1947 the announcement finally came. Prussia was to be dissolved, removed irrevocably from the map.

In the dark room Ludwig sat shackled, silent. Through the high window sunlight filtered in golden strands that did not reach cold blue eyes. The firm line formed by his mouth did not stir. Nor did his expression change. Only his hands clasped together as though in prayer.

Insanity had washed away; all that was left was the hollow in his stomach and the memories of the atrocities he had committed.

Across from him Arthur stood, head held aloft, a walking portrait of the cost of war.

Despite that emerald eyes burnt bright, victorious.

Arthur couldn't lord it over Ludwig as he might have done in centuries past. The turmoil was too great, they had lost too much. Even now Francis was quiet, often lost in thought, wept in his sleep. Arthur maintained a grim watch over his friend and former lover. Even if the statements were read without emotion the anger bubbled just below the surface.

"Gilbert chose this fate Ludwig."

Steps, the beat of military boots as he strode over and taking hold of the German's chin, tipped back his head.

"Gilbert chose this to ensure your future; he intends to shoulder the blame. Never forget this moment Ludwig. Your brother loved you enough to sacrifice everything."

"Was mit Bruder geschehen?"

Ludwig was unable to speak his name, the shame and sorrow cracked through his blank façade.

"Russia will take him."

Narrow shoulders stiffened imperceptibly. Cracks were forming between the allies, unable to agree on the best way for Europe to move forwards. Still it seemed their hands had been forced and it had finally been 'agreed' that Ivan would take Gilbert away.

As Arthur left the carefully neutral expression returned.

Ludwig sat alone, silent.

A whoosh of breath, a sickly laugh and ribs cracked below a particularly heavy blow.

"Francis was your best friend. How could you?!"

Flecks of blood stained pale flesh as Arthur leant over the fallen country, seizing his collar. Jerking his head back they were eye to eye, hateful emerald and mocking crimson. Still Prussia laughed, scorned and derided, snarled like some half crazed dog, threatening to tear out all of their throats. Arthur knew though, it was all an act. It was not madness that resided in those eyes but cold clarity.

Let them hate.

Let them detest.

If it would save Ludwig from their scorn he would take the burden onto his shoulders in a final act of protection.

"Russia will take you."

Which of them was insane?

Cold dread chilled Gilbert to the core, not since they had stood shoulder to shoulder at Waterloo had he seen the Englishman so unhinged, so potentially dangerous. Still he laughed, causing fingers to wrap around his throat. There was nothing more he could do. Every blow was one he deflected from Ludwig.

Kicking over the chair, frustrated by the lack of answers Arthur left. It was always the same. Gilbert never spoke, only laughed at him.

At length Ivan came and dragged the fallen nation away.

13 August 1961.

It was only 100 metres but it felt more like 100 miles. Through the barbed wire two Germans stood in silence watching one another.

Ivory hair was dishevelled, crimson eyes glazed. Aside him Ivan stood, a chilling smile not belying the insanity that had formed in amethyst eyes. Dark rings had formed beneath his eyes, pale skin lighter still, as though belonging to a ghost. Gilbert looked exhausted, ill.

Across in 'the west' Ludwig was beside himself, fists clenching and releasing rhythmically. Concrete blocks narrowed the crossing steadily as they were erected one by one. Still Ludwig did not look away, intently staring at his brother. Arthur stood at his side, expression impassive. From somewhere deep within a sensation of horrible de ja vu welled up.

It really didn't take all that long, the Soviet's proficiency something to be admired. Soon there was only a small gap and soon it would be filled. Merrily Ivan's hand lifted, giving them a little wave as he yanked Gilbert close, pressing him close. Ludwig tensed, teeth clenched as concrete started to obscure his vision, craning to see the fate of his brother.

The iron curtain fell and there was no more to be seen.

In silence they surveyed the concrete together. Once more Arthur found it impossible to find enjoyment in Ludwig's torment. A hand stretched, a broad shoulder squeezed, only sympathy.

Night had fallen by the time Arthur finally lead Ludwig away.

In those moments something had shifted.

A seed of reconciliation had taken root in the Englishman's heart.

For Gilbert only the frozen expanses of Russia waited, all hope withered. The iron curtain had fallen and there would be no escape.

Gilbert would be broken.


End file.
